In Which Peter Finds Out
by Blackat81
Summary: DISNEY VERSION Based on a 100 prompts challenge. Takes place after the film. Peter finds himself under dire circumstances when his visits to the nursery have become too frequent.
1. In which Peter Finds Out

_((Note: These are part of a 100 prompt challenge which I took up recently. Originally these weren't going to be linked, but slowly a story started to emerge so I just went with it. The prompt table can be found here - community./lestreasured/1733.html_

_And just some general notes -_

_- This takes place after the film, except the Jolly Roger (ship) is now back in Hook's hands just for the sake of the story I'm doing here._

_- I'm not doing any dark or gothic kind of thing here, but the overall tone of these is more serious than the movie. I'm exploring a theme which was in the book a little but I'm expanding on it to create something new. You'll get what I mean when I read it. ;)_

_I've also set everybody's ages as follows -_

_**Peter:** 14 (I know Walt officially said 12, but Bobby Driscoll was 15 when he recorded and acted for the film and his voice has already partially broken. It'd be silly to put him any younger - or older for that matter!)  
**Wendy:** 13  
**John:** 11  
**Michael:** 6  
**The Lost Boys:** 7, the youngest - 10 the oldest. (despite in the books Peter being the youngest of all.)_

_Some aspects of the book will be used, like the thimble/kiss thing which was horribly left out of the film. But mainly I'll be sticking to the film-verse, like with Peter's American accent vs Wendy and the boy's British ones._

_And, now, the first prompt!))_

* * *

**Mischievous**

"Be quiet, Tink!"

He held his finger to his mouth as his brow furrowed at the small, glittering pixie, her usual tinkling seeming louder than normal to him.

Crouched, he slowly peered around the slated roof. A warm glow emitted from the window, and he could just hear the faint sound of humming, followed by the appearance of bouncing curls and puffed sleeves folding and gathering what looked to be big, white sheets.

Behind her, he saw a flash of wood and hands flying out, and a cry of "Avast, me maties!" carried out into the cool air around him.

He grinned.

With a glance to Tinkerbell he gently clasped the window ledge and hovered slightly as he moved closer.

"Now now Michael, Father won't be pleased if you take _those_ bows."

"But they're our buried treasure!"

"Buried treasure!"

His face scrunched up as he heard her laugh. It was the kind of laugh that he thought sounded like the ones _grown ups_ would use. Not that he remembered anything like that; but he knew he had heard the same thing somewhere before.

Suddenly he shook his head. That was just plain silly. He knew _she_ wasn't a grown up.

"...come now, put them back in Father's dresser while he's still downstairs."

"Oh, but - "

"Go on now!"

He watched as the blue figure pushed the two smaller ones out of his view, and with a firm sound he knew she had shut the door behind them. At once the room grew silent, and he became once again horribly aware how loud Tinkerbell was next to him.

"Shh!" Clasping a hand around her hovering form he turned away from the window for a moment.

"Just be quiet for a moment, alright?" An angry glow answered him back from between his fingers but her sound was muffled now, and with a satisfied grin he peered back around at the window.

The figure had sat down on the bed closest to the window and he noticed the odd change in her features. A curious look came over his own.

_She looks...sad._

He had never seen her look like that before. And then, even more curiously, he watched as she reached under the bed and retrived a small, calico doll dressed in green and brown and with an impish grin drawn onto it's face.

His eyes grew wide as his face dropped, and in his surprise his hands became unclasped. Tinkerbell at once flew out and began tinkling angrily in his ear, but he only pulled her towards him as his eyes remained on the doll in the window.

"Tink, that's me!" Forgetting to lower his voice he spoke outloud.

Inside, Wendy's head snapped up as her eyes searched the window, clutching the doll to her chest.

"P-Peter?"

But there was no reply from the window. Only a faint trail of glittering fairy dust remained, and the settling of the slates on her roof as Peter Pan flattened himself against it with a horrified look on his face.

_She remembered._


	2. In which a thimble is traded

**Curious**

"Well, what is it?"

Peter hovered in the air, idly tossing one of Michael's toys up and catching it with one hand, the other clasped behind his head. The window laid open behind him; he himself was floating above Wendy's bed as she pulled and tugged at his hat in her lap, her brow knitted together in concentration as the gleam of the needle went back and forth through the fabric.  
When he had tapped at her window about an hour or so ago she had noticed at once the tear through his hat, insisting immediately that he hand it over and let her mend it.

Not that he had argued about it.

If anything, Wendy was the only person he'd let fix his things and the only person who could really fix them in the first place. He wouldn't let any of the lost boys near his things - and he didn't think they'd want to fix it anyway.

Truthfully, the reason he had come in the first place was because he knew Wendy would be able to fix it, but then again he had hoped he could've maybe listened to her tell one of his stories again to John and Michael. But they weren't there - Wendy had promptly put an end to his wish by informing him that they were downstairs with "Father" learning something or other, and she was to clean up the nursery in the meantime.

"Nanna's been locked up outside again," She had said with a slightly worried expression on her face. Peter had offered to go and free her - with the help of a little pixie dust of course - but Wendy had given him a small smile and told him to sit down while she fixed his hat.

"What's what, Peter. I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean at all."

He had been floating above her for a few minutes and it struck him that Wendy was awfully quiet. Normally she talked non-stop - not that he really liked it - but now she just sat there, patiently sewing away at his hat.

"Are ya' gonna say anything?"

Flying around to her side, he moved the toy in front of her eyes to try and get her attention, grinning.

She looked up angrily, grabbing the toy from his hands and placing it beside her.

"I _am_ trying to fix your hat unless you'd rather have that _Tigerlily_ do it for you!"

"Oh," Peter said, hovering around to the toy and flying up closer to the ceiling, beginning to toss it up and down again. "So that's what this is about, huh."

Below him Wendy gave an exhasperated sigh and threw the hat to the ground. She stood up, pointing her finger to the floor as she stared up at him.

"Peter Pan, come down here _right_ now, or I shall - I shall - " Wendy faltered as she watched him lazily float around the room with his usual impish grin splayed all over his features, not taking any notice of her.

"Why doncha like Tigerlily, Wendy?"

"Tigerlily? Tigerlily!" She angrily stomped her foot, glaring at him. "You come down right now!"

Peter's eyes widen as his heard Wendy's angry voice, and knew that he had said the wrong thing. Slowly, he floated down so that he sat cross-legged on her bed, inching away slightly as she pointed a finger at him.

"Gee, I'm real sorry Wendy - " He began, but she soon cut him off as she turned away with a huff, crossing her arms.

At once his brow creased, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, what did ya' want me to say!"

"Here!" She stomped around him and grabbed his half-fixed hat off the bed, flinging it at him. "Take your hat, Peter Pan, and leave!"

"Leave?" Peter's anger faded a little as a confused look came across his face, staring after Wendy as she furiously began winding the thread back onto it's spindle. He squinted as he looked closer at her; was she _crying?_ He really hoped he hadn't done that, but if the mermaids were anything to go by he had a big problem with making girls cry around him.

The hat still clenched in his hand, he gently put it back on his head.

"G'bye, Wendy. It was real nice of ya' to fix my hat."

Peter turned to float to the window but a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. His gaze snapped back and she was looking up at him, a guilty expression on her face and the spindle of thread discarded to the floor.

"Oh, Peter. I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it all!"

At once she flung her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly. Peter floated down to the ground, stunned for a moment, before realising what happened. He grinned.

"That's more like it!" Pushing her off him to smile at her, he reached up to take his hat off and place it in her hands.

"Are ya' gonna finish my hat now?"

Wendy laughed, taking it from him. "I shall, Peter. Oh, but I think it's only fair that I get something in return, don't you? After all."

"Well sure, anything! More pixie dust, I can get Tink - "

No sooner than he had finished the sentence - and hadn't seemed to finish alot of those that night - Wendy had flung her arms around his neck this time and had pressed her lips against his, briefly.

Peter looked wild eyed as drew away from him, smiling in a way he had never seen her smile before. Then she was gone, walking back to her dressing table with his hat and the thread in her hand.

"I should hope Tigerlily's never given you a kiss before, Peter."

"Oh." Was the only word that seemed to form from his mouth.

_So that's what a kiss was._


	3. In Which the Meaning of Thimbles

* * *

**Confused**

His lips traced over the familiar, worn pipes, the fleeting tune echoing out of them as he crossed his legs over each other

His lips traced over the familiar, worn pipes, the fleeting tune echoing out of them as he crossed his legs over each other. He sat with his head resting against one of the posts on Wendy's bed, his shoes touching the other, and in doing so he was stretched out along the thin line that lay between them. Balance was never an issue; he was floating above all this of course and his tunic was barely brushing the wood.

It was another warm night in the Darling's nursery. Wendy had left the window open from the daytime of just a few hours ago and she had, expectedly, found herself in the company of Peter Pan. John and Michael had pleaded with him to play a round of swordfights - and he had triumphantly won all three of them - and now they had dashed out the door immersed in their recreation of how Peter Pan managed to defeat them with a coat hanger doubling for a sword.

Wendy giggled at the thought. Peter might've been terribly proud and arrogant about winning the "fights", but he _had_ looked rather silly with the coat hanger flying out from his hands.

"Watcha' laughing for?"

Peter looked over at Wendy who immediately blushed, stuffing the toys she had been carrying hastily into the box below Michael's bed.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed, I bet it was Hook and his hat that made ya' laugh, wasn't it?" He grinned before lifting the panpipe back up to his mouth and giving it another tuneful blow.

"Oh, I should think not, Peter!"

"Why not?"

"That _dreadful_ pirate! He's much too scary to laugh at, don't you think?"

Peter rolled off his position on the bedpost as he laughed, flying above the bed to float there instead. Girls sure were silly; Hook scary? He'd never even thought of that one before! He was just a big, silly codfish with a crocodile after him. Peter had never been afraid of anyone who had had one of those following him before - although, now that he thought about it, that was kind of his fault, cutting Hook's hand off to feed it to the crocodile. Oh well, at least he was scared of _him_ now, he thought joyously as blew his lips over the panpipe once more.

"I _do_ wish you'd stop that!" Wendy sighed below him, placing a hand on her hip as the other was now carrying an assortment of books and loose paper with treasure maps drawn in bright colours on them.

"Stop what?" He knew full well what she meant but moved to blow the tune again, the impish grin creeping onto his face. "You girls don't like anything, huh?"

"That's not true!" The grin widened as he watched her stick her nose petulantly into the air and move to place the books onto the shelf beside her.

"Oh yeah?"

She had shifted the books into place now, and he curiously followed her movement when she didn't say anything back to him. Instead, she had stopped, facing towards the bookcase and away from him, her face unreadable.

"Peter," Wendy suddenly began, turning around quite suddenly that it almost jolted him out of his position. "What is it that you like? That is, more than anything else rather."

Peter's brow furrowed. He hadn't expected that; she spoke as if the question was completely out of the blue - which it was - but also had no relation to what they had just been playfully arguing over just before. He lifted a hand up to scratch at his hat, both in thoughtfulness and confusion.

"Huh," Reclining into the air behind him, he placed his hands behind his head, the panpipe clasped between them. Suddenly a thought entered his head - and the grin returned to his face. "Well, I sure liked that thing you gave me last time!"

He could've sworn there was a hint of sudden eagerness in Wendy's face when he answered, and she edged closer to his floating form, sitting on the bed below him.

"And er, what thing might've that been?"

"A - a.." Peter suddenly realised that he didn't know quite _what_ she had called it. Furiously his mind searched for the word as he raised himself up, sitting cross-legged in the air. Just as before, a thought crossed his mind and his face lit up. "..a thimble! Yeah, that's it!"

In his proudness of finding the appropriate word - or so he thought - he returned to his reclined position and the panpipes were lifted to his lips again, as if by finding the word the thought and conversation had ended and he was quite happy to do something entirely different now. However Wendy below him looked as though that was far from the truth; she begun to smile again, and if Peter had been watching her he would've recognized the smile as the same, strange _girl_ smile Wendy had given him a few nights before.

"Peter, are you sure that's what you like most, more than _anything_?"

"Sure!" With a wave of his hand he cast her question off, slipping his hat over his eyes.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I gave you another one, perhaps?"

Peter's hat slipped from his face as his eyes widened, his hands scrabbling to catch it as it fell below him. The felt material safely back in his hands, he placed it back on his head and floated softly to the ground. He landed just behind Wendy on the rug beside her bed - and the shocked expression remained.

"Another one? Why?" He knew he had just told her that it was what he liked more than anything in the world - but he had only told her that to make her stop talking and maybe to tell another story or two. But this - this was _weird_. Sure, he had liked the..._thimble_, it wasn't like anything he had ever done before, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was a tugging, nagging feeling that he shouldn't have done it. And he was more than sure that the feeling was connected with _growing up_.

"Well, why not! You said you liked it more than anything and I should _hope_ Peter Pan doesn't lie!" Wendy crossed her arms across her chest and stuck her nose into the air again. "And I shan't think it was done _properly_ in the first place."

"Properly? Now wait a minute, Wendy!" He suddenly snapped out of the horrified daze he had been in, his eyebrows knitting together and a finger pointing towards her.

" - How old are you, Peter." She immediately cut across him as he began to open his mouth again. Her arms had become uncrossed now and she stared at him with a curious look on her features, her head tipped to one side.

Again, Peter faltered, the anger fading a little. "I'm - I'm...Well, age doesn't matter in Neverland! All I know is that I'm never growing up, you hear me?" The finger raised again threateningly.

But Wendy had grabbed onto his outstretched hand in a sudden movement, surprising him too much to struggle, and was pulling him towards the mirror that stood beside her bed, above her vanity. She turned him to face it, placing a hand either side of his shoulders, which ended up being his arms, as she stood just a little bit shorter than him.

Peter stared back at his reflection. There it was, the same as it had always been; hair red and thick from under his hat, freckles dotting his nose and under his eyes. Nose turned up, ears pointed. And then he looked at Wendy - really looked at her. He had admittedly not taken the time to look at her properly ever before as it hadn't been a necessity for him, but now as he studied the small, round face beside his it struck him that nothing was like he had remembered. Wendy looked older. Not older than him, but older as if she was ...growing up. Which didn't make any sense because he would never -

"Peter, you're not a little boy." She spoke from behind him as she lifted one of his arms as if to demonstrate. "John is already eleven this year, you know, and - "

" - I'm not growing up!"

"Well I didn't _say_ you were, I only meant that, in the time that you've been visiting the nursery, that it occurred to me that you weren't as young as I had _thought_."

There was a silence after Wendy spoke, her emphasis on the last word causing Peter to look back and forth between his face and hers in their mirrored reflections. He tried to picture John, and then the lost boys beside him, each time only solidifying what Wendy had said to him.

"...I should think that, perhaps, the visits to the nursery - "

" - You're wrong!"

Peter suddenly flung himself from her grasp, turning around to face her with eyes darting back and forth and fists clenched at his sides.

"Peter!"

He made to move towards her but instead twisted around and flew threw the window with such force that the curtains threatened to blow right off their stays, billowing into the darkness of the London air.

Wendy watched his form slowly disappear between the clouds.

Perhaps telling Peter Pan that he was balancing the fine line between childhood and growing up wasn't the best idea.


	4. In Which Peter's Face Reflects Nothing

* * *

**Indescribable**

With a mirror stolen from Hook's cabin aboard the Jolly Rodger and the rug shielding his room firmly attached to the wall, Peter's room sat in down-casted shadows, his form limply hanging from the hammock.

Every now and again one of the lost boys would try to poke their head into his room, demanding to know if Peter was sick or telling him they were going out to tease the mermaids again, and every time they were met with the same, angry reply.

"I said LEAVE ME ALONE, ALRIGHT?" And often his dagger was thrown in the direction of the rug, causing whatever lost boy that had disturbed him to scuttle hastily away.

Peter's eyes stared up at the ceiling above him where he had attached the mirror, it's gaudy jeweled frame glinting back at him, and he began to wonder if maybe he really was sick. He'd been in his room for what felt like days - although the days in Neverland were always shorter - and he hadn't even dared to leave Neverland itself. Not since...

The face in the mirror suddenly scrunched up, looking away in childish fustration.

"What does she know anyway." And part of him wished he could've believed that. But as each day, each hour flittered past, it was becoming more and more frighteningly real to him.

Amoung the darkened objects in his room a tiny, bright light emerged. A soft tinkling filled the air - _Tink._

"Tinkerbell, come 'ere." He waved a limp hand at the light, his voice just slightly tinged with annoyance but more so with himself for forgetting the tiny pixie's presence. At once the light buzzed in front of his face, reflecting off the mirror above him, and her tiny form came into view.

"You don't believe it, do ya' Tink?" Peter said almost sadly as he prodded his cheek with his hand to illustrate his question. In reply he got an almost equally sad tinkle; she flew up to the mirror to study his face, and in a resigned manner had floated back down with her head nodding slowly. On any other day Peter would've angrily brushed her aside with something like "Who needs ya' anyway!" shouted at her, but Peter simply stared back at the reflection above him, nodding too.

He knew he shouldn't have gone back. One adventure had been enough; Wendy wasn't going to be their mother so why bother seeing her again? But he couldn't resist the stories she told every night, and slowly he had creeped back to the familar window where he sat, listening in the seclusion of the shadows where nobody could see him. He thought she might not remember him, that he could continue on listening hidden away, but one night she had seen him and demanded that he come inside while her "Mother" was downstairs. John and Michael loved having him back - and he loved playing with them too - but something else had made him keep coming back with them knowing he was there.

_Wendy._

In the hours he had sat without them knowing outside his window, a strange feeling had started to store at the back of his mind. It lay there, dormant for those few nights; and then suddenly when he had begun spending longer hours in the Nursery with them - with _Wendy_ - the feeling began to excellerate and bubble subconciously.

And the thimble...yes, that was when he had begun to finally notice it. Tigerlily had given him one of those before but it hadn't been the same. When Wendy had briefly brushed her lips against his it was something all together different, and at once he became terribly happy inside, yet horribly afraid at the same time. _Scared._

He hadn't told Wendy; he hadn't told anyone. In fact, he had stored the odd feeling back into the deepest regions of his mind and had left it there. It was nothing to worry about, he told himself. He liked Wendy sure enough but didn't everyone want a "Mother"?

But it was suddenly brought back freshly into his thoughts when Wendy had asked him what he liked most out of anything. Well, to be truthful, it hadn't happened quite _then_; he only had replied with the first thing that came to his mind, knowing Wendy would be happy with the answer seeing as she wanted to give him the thimble in the first place.

Everything after that only brought him to where he was now. Alone, confused. _Scared._ His eyes glued to the glittering mirror above him as he studied his face again and again, trying to pinpoint exactly where it had begun to change. He couldn't find it. He could never place his finger on what made him look different. All he knew was that when he had stood next to Wendy in the mirror in the nursery, the feeling had dropped to the pit of his stomach and had stayed there ever since.

"Tink, what's wrong with me?" Peter said softly. But really he was asking himself; the reflection that stared back above him. "Why am I growing up?"


	5. In Which Peter Has a Plan

* * *

**Determined**

With a new air of sudden determinacy the rug over his door was flung open, and with one foot in the air as he tugged his boots on, Peter marched over to the lost boys - or _flew_, rather.

"Men," He began once he had the boot safely on, and at once clasped his hands behind his back as he paced in mid air in front of the line of the boys. Each one held their hand to their forehead in attention; secretly, though, they were escastic to finally see Peter out of his room, whatever the reason was. Were they finally going to get to do something?

"I need you to go to the Indian camp - "

No sooner had he started again that someone had cut in with a shout of "Oh boy!" and a grin splayed across their face. Peter shot the boy a stern glance and he instantly fell back into place.

" - Are ya' listening to me?"

"Yessir!"

"Alright, well, I need you to find Tigerlily for me, is that clear?"

He turned to face the boys who all stood a good foot or so shorter than him and thus he towered over them quite proudly. But Peter wasn't proud at that very moment; he was incredibly anxious, although he didn't let it show. After days in his room he had finally hatched on a plan - or not so much a plan, but a way of proving that Wendy was wrong and the whole thing was just some silly mess that girls always seemed to create around him.

Peter would've just flown and fetched the idea - or _person_, rather - but he had found when he tried to fly any higher than his roof or any longer than the entire hideout, he became terribly tired. Tink's dust hadn't seemed to make any difference either. With fustration he realised that this too must've been a side effect of the "thing" that Wendy had told him about. He wasn't going to say the word - Peter Pan only said it when he really had to, and the very thought it made him pale.

"Uh, Tigerlily?" Another one of the boys, this one short and quite rounder than the others with a odd breakage in his voice, spoke up, and shook Peter out of his momentary daze. His brow furrowed at the question.

"Yeah, Tigerlily! Now go on and get her!" And with an angry wave of his hand he dismissed the line of lost boys who widened their eyes and immediately began running towards the secret exit of the hideout.

The room cleared with the final shouts echoing into the distance, Peter at once slumped against the chair that sat in the middle of the room. He felt tired, worn out. And he had barely flown today at all. This was even worse than he thought - at first it was just the horrifying feeling of being _grown-up_, but now it was draining his magic - and energy - too.

But now...now all he had to do was wait.

"Come on, Chief! We only wanna borrow her for a minute!"

"Yeah, come on Chief!"

"We'll...we'll make a bargain with ya'! Let us take Tigerlily to Peter and we'll let ya' win the next five rounds, okay?"

After a few hours, Peter heard the familar rumble of the ground above him. _About time!_

The room felt like it suddenly began to burst with life as all six boys crowded in at once, Tigerlily being pulled along by the last one with a less than impressed look on her face. Her nose was stuck into the air, and once the boy had let go she crossed her arms across her chest and refused to look at Peter.

Peter himself just stared. _Nothing._ It was just Tigerlily, the pretty princess of the Indian tribe. Nothing at all like he felt when Wendy was around. He stared wide eyed for a few moments, but realising that the boys were whooping and shouting at him for their good job of getting Tigerlily, his jaw set firmly and he blinked the look away. This wasn't all he had got her for, after all.

"Leave us alone, can't ya'?" He rose his voice above the noise to which the room instantly fell silent. The boys began to shuffle out slowly, with rounds of "Okay, boss" and the like mumbled between them before finally the room was quiet once more.

Tigerlily briefly lifted an eye in Peter's direction. She had never said much - not like Wendy at all - but Peter had always liked her. And after the Chief had proclaimed him "Flying Eagle" and bestowed upon him the title, he had been on wonderful terms with the Indian camp. He just hadn't had the time to go and see Tigerlily since then, and he understood that she, like all girls, was probably pretty angry at him for that reason.

"Tigerlily, I'm real sorry that I haven't come and visited - "

But he was met with a instant shove of her nose in the air again. Peter's eyes narrowed, his fustration building. He hadn't got her to apologise to, and now he was running out of the precious time he had left by wasting it on sorries that he really didn't want to say in the first place.

"Look, I didn't get the boys to get ya' for that, okay? I need ya' to do something for me."

He watched anxiously as Tigerlily remained rooted to the spot, but slowly she turned around, her interest gained. Peter began again.

"Can ya' give me a...a..." Like he had with Wendy, Peter faltered. He didn't think Tigerlily knew what the word thimble meant, and he still wasn't sure if that was the proper word for it in the first place; Wendy hadn't bothered to correct him when he had said it, but the understanding had been, understandably, mutual.

But Peter needn't have worried - Tigerlily's expression instantly transformed the minute he had spoken, and she started advancing on him at once. He was extremely taken aback by this sudden move however; wide-eyed he backed away as she came closer, until finally she had cornered him against the chair with nowhere else to go. Peter began to really wish he had the energy to fly at that very moment but he didn't dare risk it.

He fell onto the chair, scrabbling his legs up in front of him as she leaned over. But then she retreated as a shy look came over her. Peter gaped at this behaviour - girls really _were_ strange - but suddenly felt that with her no longer dangerously advancing on him that the task wasn't really all that hard at all.

So Peter sat up, leant over, and thimbled Tigerlily.

It was different. Not the same excited, quick thimble he had gotten from her before, but a lingering and trembling thimble that instantly drew back memories of Wendy.

When Tigerlily drew back from him, her eyes wide, Peter found himself leaning back over to repeat the thimble all over again. He never wanted to leave the memory of Wendy behind and as his lips quickly brushed against Tigerlily's again they weren't _her's_, but Wendy's.

After the second thimble he finally drew back, opening his eyes.

And then Peter felt instantly frightened as if he had just done the most terrible thing in the world.

"N-no - " He leant away from Tigerlily and tried to climb over the chair. Giving up, he decided to use his last bout of energy and fly over, landing on the ground some distance away from her. There he stared for a few moments before flying with a whoosh of sudden air out of the hideout, leaving poor Tigerlily confused in the middle of the room.

_Never!_ With great force Peter felt himself tear through the forest, his eyes almost shut as he tried to forget. And the same thing came to his mind as the night he had flown out of the nursery, confronted by the reflection of Wendy and him.

_I'm not growing up!_


	6. In Which Things Change

_

* * *

_

**Broken**

_Some say the tears of a fairy can be heard by children as the tinkling of bells if they lie in bed sick, but Wendy had never come down with anything in all her thirteen years. However, one night - many nights since Peter had visited - she heard the most curious sound. And as she lifted her head to the window, the cool breeze of the night fluttering past her, she almost swore that it sounded like a little boy crying._

_

* * *

_

"What are you doing?"

"Packing."

"What for?"

" 'Cause I'm going."

"Where?"

"Out there - out of Neverland."

* * *

The powers of Neverland have never been properly dictated to paper nor written in ink. But what has been passed down from generations of small children is this; in Neverland, you never grow old, no matter how long you stay or what age you may be. However, as many children will state for you, Peter Pan had been an exception.

For one who stays too long in the real world will loose the magic of Neverland forever.


End file.
